


Blue And Gold

by subtropicalStenella



Series: 5 for 500 [3]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Doesn't Get Any On Screen, Echo Wants A Piece Of That, F/M, Fives Needs To Shut Up, Masturbation, Public Masturbation, Rex Knows He's Hot, Voyeurism, sorry buddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 02:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtropicalStenella/pseuds/subtropicalStenella
Summary: 5 for 500 Prompt for Countess of Biscuit: 4) The Clone Wars: Ahsoka poking about the ventilation ducts on the Resolute and spying Rex… *ahem* polishing his deecee; PWP, Explicit





	Blue And Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [countessofbiscuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessofbiscuit/gifts).



She wasn't  _ spying. _ She was doing  _ reconnaissance.  _ It was a new model of ship and therefore it needed to be  _ explored.  _ How many other times had her first-hand knowledge of ventilation systems come in handy?  _ Lots of them. _

So why did she feel so  _ guilty _ peering out of the wall grate into the barracks? They're just sleeping _.  _ Packed as many as four to a  bunk, which should be uncomfortable but they're out like lights. Well. Most of them. A few are on their datapads or talking quietly. She has to stifle a giggle when Jesse lets out a rack-rattling snore, startling Kix awake and getting them both pelted with rolled up socks until Kix shoves Jesse over onto his side.  

 

Maybe it's because there's things she's not supposed to know? The little regulation breaks, like how most of them are out of the tops of their blacks and barefoot, maybe naked. They're supposed to be ready to armor up in less than  fifteen seconds, per contract,  but it's not like they wouldn't get way more of a warning in a big dreadnaught like this, if boarders (haha, right) happened. And then there's the stuff like how Hardcase’s tattoos aren't just on his face. They aren't supposed to  _ do  _ that. It was a dumb Kaminoan Proprietary Marketing rule and she couldn't think of a single Jedi that cared, but still.

She spots the back of a blond head farther down the row of racks, in a top bunk. She might be able to get across from him if she moves up, pulling herself forward on her belly and thighs with her forearms, montrals slung back over her shoulders and out of the way.

 

Rex is curled up on his side, his back to the room, which is  _ weird  _ because she's only ever seen him sleep with his back to a wall, often sitting up with his deece in his lap. She's not going to complain, because that means she gets to admire the long clean stretch of his back all the way down to where the bedding is pushed down to show the dimples at the base of his spine, the slow, faint shift and flex of his shoulders with the movement of his arm. 

 

Wait. Hang on. Is he…? He's got a headset on, and he's slightly backlit from the flickering light of probably-a-datapad in front of him. 

 

Alright now she's  _ definitely _ spying, this is a  _ huge  _ invasion of their limited privacy, especially if he's doing what she thinks he's doing and she  _ definitely  _ should be scooting backwards into a different vent and  _ leaving,  _ not biting her bottom lip and fervently thinking  **_turn over!_ **

 

Oh no. He _did_ and he _is_ oh no did she _make_ _him_ do that? She's not good at this whole Force Command thing yet and pulls a montral over her face to hide but she can't _not_ look now. 

And she's not the only one, there's the sound of someone repeatedly slapping someone else on the shoulder, whispering, “Hey,  _ hey!  _ Check it out!!” and a low whistle, and “Evening to you too, Cap’n,” and “You ah… you want a hand with that, sir?” 

 

**_Yes!_ **

 

“No,” Rex answers, not looking away from his datapad. Oh, good. She's not making him do anything. Which is good. Because she shouldn't be watching this, let alone  _ directing _ it. And she definitely doesn't feel disappointed in the least.

“Just wanna put on a little show?” someone else asks, sounding smug. 

“What I  _ want  _ is for you to shut up,” Rex growls, voice gone low and gravelly. It's not his I'm Your Superior Officer voice, but it's close, and  _ hums  _ through her montrals, sending a shiver down her spine to pool low in her stomach. 

“Yeah  _ Fives _ ,” someone snaps, and a pillow is hurled across the aisle. 

 

Except Rex is smiling faintly,  _ smirking _ , and his posture changes. He rolls slightly more onto his side, still on his back but… angled better? And he's… kicked the blankets more off his legs? Does he  _ want  _ to be watched? He's sticking the magnetized datapad to the durasteel ceiling above him, tucking the arm nearest to the open room and  _ her  _ behind his head and arching his back, running his free hand down his belly to scruff lightly through the bright gold fuzz over his groin. 

It's all the same color, his hair and stubble and under his arms, between his legs. All the weird patches of fur Humans have. A little darker gold on his body, which means it's not dyed, he's a mutant. That's a  _ big  _ deal for clones, if he's drawing attention to his technically-aberrant traits, he is  _ definitely  _ showing off. 

 

… So there's no harm in  _ her  _ watching too, is there? 

 

He's stroking, petting himself lazily, almost idly, pulling his length over along the ridge of his hip bone, fingers curved loosely around his shaft, rolling his thumb over the dripping-wet head. That's good for Humans, right? Means he's close? He's _different_ from what she's built for, blunt-tipped and thick all the way down, no smooth taper. She would feel him for _days,_ deep inside, if she--

She muffles a faint, lilting moan in her hands and montral at a showy roll of his hips that has him fucking his fist, and he pulls his hand out from under the pillow to run his palm up and down his chest and stomach. She can see the awful blaster scar over his heart. Some part of her wants to  _ bite _ it, rake her claws over it, make it a  _ good _ hurt, and she squeaks when he does it  _ for _ her, dragging his short nails down his chest, sweet and slow, but hard enough to leave faint pinkish welts.

Another shifting roll of his hips and she feels the echo in her own, her leggings soaked through, the hand on his chest moving down between his legs, fingers around the base of his cock, dipping farther down until just his thumb presses against the base. His fingers press between his thighs and he’s not toying with himself, not anymore. His hand strokes up and down his length, an even, steady rhythm broken by intermittent pauses to palm the head of his cock, squeezing slowly. A bitten off curse, a ragged moan she wants to answer with her own, aching to sing out to him, and his rhythm breaks entirely: loose, fast movement, almost rough, desperate, his gaze fixed on the datapad above him. 

She can  _ feel _ as much as see the tension building in him, coiling down her spine as his arches, his head tips back and every muscle in his beautiful body goes taut, frozen in place for one long perfect moment,  _ ah-ahnhh-nh-ffuck!  _ falling from his slack mouth as he comes, spilling over his fist. Another soft  _ fuck _ as he strokes his cock one last time, drawing out another thick stripe of cum to splatter across his stomach, hissing, shuddering at the overstimulation. 

 

He slowly relaxes, falling back down to his mattress, his arm flung over his face, and she lies frozen and shaking in the ventilation duct, afraid to move and unable to think because she _felt that._ Not entirely, she didn't--she hasn't-- _Light_ but she is close--but she felt _his_ climax, the near painfully intense pleasure and more importantly the relief afterwards, what he'd _really_ wanted when he started and--

 

and someone else breaks the spell with another whistle, making Rex smirk, then chuckle, lifting his arm a bit to look down from his bunk. 

 

“Liked that?” he asks rhetorically,  _ licking his fingers clean _ and she needs to leave  _ now, _ backing out and away, because it's not just Rex she felt now but the rising passion in the half dozen or so clones in his audience. If that keeps up,  _ increases, _ she might die of overstimulation if embarrassment didn't get her first and-- _ ow! _

 

“Hang on, did you hear something?”

 

She freezes again, the knee she'd caught on a bit of metal pulled to her chest.  **_No, you didn't!_ **

 


End file.
